


Roses and rivalries.

by OhWowAltMal



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Funny, Gangs, Light-Hearted, M/M, Stupidity, Violence, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9584510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhWowAltMal/pseuds/OhWowAltMal
Summary: After escaping his violence-entangled family to pursue his career as a florist, Malik thought he had it good for a while. His biggest problem was the annual rivalries between streets at the midsummer parade. But with a new member on the block, will Altair rise their float to the top and help them win this year or drag them all to a bitter defeat? Will Maliks violent and mafia of a family come back to haunt him? Why is a lighthearted parade surrounded by double dealing, Saboutage, death threats, and double agents?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I literally felt like I was writing an episode of parks and rec the entire time.
> 
> This fic is hopefully going to be short, stupid, and silly. I'm having difficulty writing the next chapter in 'two week affair' (for those reading) so this is a way for me to just relax and get some stupid blather out while I try and sort out the final chapters. 
> 
> There is a proper plot ( this was originally intended to be focused more on Maliks family, the parade rivalries came...later, and I'm currently hating myself for writing it into existence because of how stupid it is ) that will develop and all of this 'I'm banging ur mom lol' jokes and everything will disappear and we can move onto better, less cringey things. I genuinely apologise for this fic. It's going to be terrible. It's basically a product of all of the jokes I wanted to use in TWA but thought they were too immature to.
> 
> Anyway, I'll try to update that ASAP, and I thank eveyrone who reads any of my fics from the bottom of my heart. You all mean a lot to me.

* * *

90% of his family were horrible people.

He wasn’t going to sugarcoat it. What was the point? Frankly, it was almost impossible to sugarcoat regardless– how do you make killing people sound pleasant? How do you make drug deals, human trafficking, money laundering, bribery and prostitution sound acceptable? You don’t. Can't. You either step around it, or step in it.

Malik had chosen the former.

His father, while being less than pleased at Maliks choice to leave the 'family business' and being even more disappointed in his profession of choice, soon ( with much persauding ) came around to accepting Maliks choices. And though this involved his florist store – that Malik had bought with his own hard earned money, no less – being used now and then as a drop off point for deals or as a safehouse for people on the run, he was happy with the compromise. It offered him relative peace.

From family members, at least. Not from new and nosy neighbors.

Phillipa's place had been shut down a few months ago – she and her Fiancée were moving to Scotland to get more in touch with her Celtic roots and old family there, and had sold the store to some unknown party. She had said that she wanted a more 'homely' culture for her baby, and though Malik was doubtful of how the cold and bitter-winded lands of the British Isles would provide a homely and comforting environment for a half-Australian baby, he was supportive nonetheless. The going away party had been nice, small, consisting of a few friends ( Malik included ) to say simple speeches and drink in their honor. It was sad, really - The Homeopathy shop she had owned next door to Maliks own sold only hand made products that always smelt like vanilla, and the smell was a refreshing change when he went there for lunch from the overpowering pungent of flowers.

But soon, she was gone, her shop was closed and it sat empty for a good half a year before it was bought. After that, all that happened was incredibly quick. One minute, the 'for sale' sign was gone, and almost overnight the place had been refurbished, decorated, wired, and was ready to go. In place of ‘Phillipa’s Homeopathy', the sign now read ‘Tricks, Trinkets and Tidbits’, in a mysterious and strangely childish font that was coloured a bright purple. Matching curtains hid the interior from any prying eyes that tried to guess what lay behind the front windows.

Who the fuck had brought this place?

Though it had been set up and bought, it was nearly a whole month before the store even opened – Malik was beginning to think it had been bought simply by some bored businessman with cash to spare and turned into a space to store all of his junk – and, like the way It had arrived, it was open sudden and unexpected.

So unexpected, actually, that Malik had walked right past the Triple T ( as they were beginning to call it on the block now ) and was busy unlocking his own store when the doors had opened with a jingle and the owner stepped out to greet him.

He didn’t know who he had expected, to be perfectly honest. A stereotypical gypsy, maybe? Someone dressed garishly with flowing pants and jewellery enough to sink a two ton man, long hair in plaits or dreads, overzealous makeup and a dangerously open shirt ( regardless of gender ). Or even an elder shop owner, one with greying and fading, wispy hair, who spoke with a strange accent – possibly European, but who could tell – and kind eyes. An old man or woman with six grandchildren and cats to match. Maybe the 'trinkets and tricks' were items they had found on his or her trip around the world while they were younger and the world was better, if dated.

Something, someone unusual. Someone suitable to the mysterious vibe this shop had obtained already in the little time it had sat on this street.

Oh, he could not have been more wrong in his _life_.

It was a man who ran the place. No flowing pants, probably under the age of twenty five, and at first glance he seemed...normal. Utterly boring, usual, normal. He wore regular jeans, a plain white shirt and black jacket, had dark blonde hair that was too long to be controlled and the tips flopped rebelliously to the left in the wind. He didn’t smile. That was a pity, as it would have been interesting to see how the scar on his up lip stretched in a grin, interesting to see whether his face suited a smile or if the man had the vicious look to have a smile luck eeirly unnatural. Tan skin, white but dark enough – possibly gained at the beach, but it looked natural enough to be ethnic – and the most stunning pair of golden eyes he’d ever seen in his life.

Malik didn’t spend too much time admiring them. He needn't have too, anyway – he was soon the main attraction of them and he got plenty a view when the owner came and stuck out his hand in greeting. "Malik, I presume? Altair. I own the new store next door." He gestured with his head towards the store, as if it wasn’t obvious enough, and after a firm handshake he stuck his hands in his pockets. "And “Arabian Nights’” is your....floral boutique?"

The man didn’t waste words, something he was appreciative of. He nodded, and this received an arched brow from Altair.

"Interesting name. Sounds a bit like a porn site."

Well, this one is certainly...blunt.

Fun.

He had earned and received a grin in response. "That’s where I got the idea from." This earned the sought after smile Malik had been yearning after, and he was right in his first guess – a smile, though this one small and hidden as Altair glanced down, warmed up his face and stretched it into something wonderful and homely.

Almost sweet, like a smile of a young boy after his first kiss. It was nice.

Malik shrugged after a moment. "Besides, the exotic name brings in all the tourists. They think im selling authentic Middle Eastern shit. I just don’t have the heart to tell them I import all my flowers from the Netherlands, you know? Nor the money."

Another small grin. Another victory.

_A victory for what?_

"Maybe I should change the name of my store to something like that. We could run a whole street full of tourist traps- think of the money we'd rake in." His new neighbour joked.

_Barely five minutes in and they were already trading quips and schemes._

They exchanged a few more introductions and jokes before Altair excused himself to set up store, Malik doing the same with thoughts now occupied by a new, if not entirely unwelcome, subject to think about when the day gets slow and he has nothing to do but daydream.

By eight thirty he was open and set up, leaning against the counter and watching the door, watching people pass and pause, then continue on. It wasn’t unexpected. Nobody bought flowers in the morning.

Half an hour passed, then another, empty and leaving him almost falling asleep in his palm. The terrible music that he played through the above speakers were, at this point, the only thing keeping him awake, as the sun drew on and the morning aged and the stream of people outside grew heavier. One bad thing about having an entirely glass window front? It magnified the suns warmth and if you're running on barely three hours sleep, it can be fatal. He was almost tempted to sit in his chair for a quick nap and rely on the doors bell to wake him. His phone buzzed at him just as he began to cave into the lure of the chair, making him huff but pull it from his pocket.

Haytham - the man who ran the Bookstore - had sent a couple of messages to the group chat he, and everyone else who owned a shop on this street, was in. It was a handy way to keep in touch, warn about looters, suspicious folks, things like that. He didn’t talk much in it though. He clicked open the messages, surprised to see a few more than he had expected. It looked like Malik wasn’t the only one to meet their new neighbour; Altair was now a member of ‘Acorn Street Gangstas’ ( He detested the name but annoyingly the rest found it amusing ) and was making himself at home. His phone was practically alive in his hand as the messages came through thick and fast.

_Altair: Not those kind of trinkets. I don’t have that much of a wonky mind. Or that wonky of a permit._

_Lollipop: Oh, shame. We could use a sex store here. Spice it up for the kids. ;)_

_Small Ham Man: Maria no_

_Lollipop: Maria YES_

_Altair: Why is your name Small Ham Man_

_Small Ham Man: Long story. And no, its not sexual._

He snorted at the banter but didn’t get involved, turned his phone onto mute and was prepared to put it away before a much more mature message slipped its way through the sexual innuendos and dirty jokes.

_Large Ham Man: This Is nice and all, but everyone don’t forget the meeting tonight. Its at Leonardos place this time, don’t forget. Altair, thats the Bookstore next to Marias place._

_Altair: Is this a Cult meeting? Am I in a cult now? Aw, momma would be so proud._

_Altair: if she wasn’t dead._

_Large ham Man: No, its like a neighbourhood watch thing. Every thursday night. Bring wine. Cheap wine._

Malik had totally forgotten about the meeting tonight. Shit. It was held every thursday night from seven till ten, and usually ended in them all stumbling home pissed faced unless a serious topic was being discussed. _Them_ being all of the shop owners or flat mates that worked along their part of town. It was a tight community, where people watched out for each other and shared everything from budget tips to rumours on the street.

Funny. All his effort to escape his families demand for scrutiny, security, and an all too open personal life, and he ended up being in what could be considered a modern day peaceful mafia. If the mafia organised holiday parties, threw galas, and were general well-doers.

Sometimes Malik wondered how he had ended up with this kind of life, stuck in the crevice between a family full of secrets and lies and crime, and a community where the most scandalous event of the year had been when a group of teens vandalised the memorial fountain. He didn’t fit in either of those worlds and yet had a foot in each. It wasn’t a comfortable position, but it was better than having two feet on solid ground that burnt or froze his legs. He had years to figure out his place in life. Malik could afford to spend a few in an uncomfortable stalemate.

One thing was certain. Thanks to their newest member, tonights meeting would be interesting.

 

He had brought a pack of half frozen eclairs and a couple of boxes of beer as an apology for being late.

The nap at closing time had been a bad idea and he’d woken up twenty minutes late to the meeting, taking whatever was in his basement fridge and stumbling, bleary eyed, through the street to the brightly lit Art depo a few stores down. Not a good start to the night, but not the worst he’d had.

That award went to the time he’d woken up naked in the toilets of a train station. It hadn’t ended well.

Malik was greeted with joking boos and cheers and smiles, flipping them off in return and dumping his ‘gifts’ on the old poker table that sat crookedly in the corner. Everyone was here tonight, a rare occurrence, though it was probably only to check out the new kid on the block and see whether he would fit into the fold. Even Kenway managed to drag himself down from the bar and sat, stinking of booze, next to Haytham.

“What took you so long, Malik? Was that a walk of shame I detected upon entering?” Another round of laughter as Maria threw out the first jive, arms folded and loving sneer wonky on her lips. “What lucky man was just chucked out in nothing but his smallclothes?”

“You’ll have to ask your husband. And while youre at it, tell him to change his underwear once in a while.” His retort was sharp and made it clear he had no time for games tonight, still trying to escape the last clutches of sleep dragging him down.

A few chuckles but most quietened down as he sat, Haytham sitting across from him and giving a thankful nod for settling the group down. “We’ve already welcomed Altair,” he sat next to Maria with a cocky grin and arms resting on the table, eyes on Malik with a wink as soon as he glanced over. He ignored it though wondered where it had flowered from.

“And now that Malik is here, we can move onto the important matter at hand; the annual Midsummer Parade.”

The Midsummer Parade. The one event of the year that wasn’t taken lightly, that was dreaded and so passionately invested into all of their lives that they spent two whole months preparing before June even arrived. It wasn’t the Parade itself that caused such chaos in their ranks; it was the groups that were also compelled to take part. In particular, the Johnson street gang.

The street lay just a few blocks over and had been their little communities bitter rivals for over ten years now. No-one knows, no-one remembers how the hostility came to be - some say it was a love affair gone wrong, others a terrible unsolved homicide, though in all likelyhood it was probably none of those - but its been brewing and growing every year and reaches its breaking point in June. 

The parade it’s hosted and run by a small, select committee. The floats are designed by each street entered, about twelve all together, and all sharing the same theme that is decided and changed by the committee every year. The best float is decided by three judges who are picked at random each year, and wins over ten grand to spend on refurbishing their street.

Its such a highly sought after prize, such a heavily competed event, that theres even a betting ring that gets held each year where you bet on which float will win. Run by his own family, of course.

Its actually quite ironic. The parade was made to celebrate community, the city, and all that heartwarming friendship shit, and its become one of the most ferocious battles between groups that Malik had ever seen. Theres sabotage, threats, bets and bribery, a smuggling ring for rare materials, even a place in downtown where you can get forged papers with a specific section opened just for the parade.

Its fucking insane. 

"This sounds fucking amazing.” Altair sat in awe with a grin ear to ear as he listened to Haythams explanation of the event. “This genuinely sounds like the most exciting thing I’ve ever gotten involved in.”

“Your naivety is refreshing. It will be fun to see how you cope with the real deal.” Ezio tilted on his chair with his fingers linked behind his head, a smirk glancing. “Its not a game, no matter how much you think it is.”

“Don’t scare him off, Ezio. Let him have fun while it lasts.” Leonardo, the voice of reason. Often needed.

“Its only a warning. He’s gonna need it.”

“I’m sure the kid’ll do fine, alright Ezzie? He seems capable of dealing with a couple of crooks. Or whatever we call ‘em now.” Edward finally joined the conversation, slurring up from his arms with a head resting on the table and a bottle of booze in his hands. “Adam has an air of…shit, I don’t know. Capableness. About him. Is that a real word?”

“Its Altair.”

“Whatever, applesauce.”

Haytham coughed with a frown and smacked Edwards head, making him jerk up with a matching frown. “Aye. Watch yer hands. I could fucking ground you, son.”

A deeper glare carved its way onto Haythams face. “Don’t call me son. Just because you’re having some…grief driven fling with my mother-“

“I am your stepfather and I will call you whatever I damn well please, _son_. Now get yer dad another beer.”

“I genuinely hate you.”

“And I genuinely love nailing yer mom. Never knew I had a thing for older ladies but here we are.”

Malik hoped his growing headache would make his head explode. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with this.

He was about to interrupt the growing volume of bickering before he noticed Altair trying to capture his attention, waving his hands in little movements just above the table with a ‘help me’ look on his face. Grateful for any chance to escape this growing family disaster he stood, avoiding the jealous looks and nodded with his head to the door for Altair to follow. Once they were outside Altair leant again the wall, crossed his arms.

“Jesus. I don’t want to know or understand how that situation is even possible. Aren’t they the same age?”

Malik shrugged. “Edwards screwing Haythams mother. Well, is in a relationship with her, but its probably just for the sex. Its his way of coping with grief, and as you can tell Haytham isn’t exactly too pleased.”

“Grief?”

“Long story.”

"Ah. Still not quite In with the fold yet, am I?” A Little grin, a grin Malik was growing to enjoy seeing, but making him frown instead and wonder why. “Don’t worry, I understand. Ill just battle a dragon or something to prove my being worthy.”

That made Malik snort. “Gotta find one first.”

They both laughed at that, and for a moment things were quiet. Nice and quiet. Too nice and quiet, and made Malik begin to think about things he didn’t want to. Like why he beginning to like that rare smile a little too much.

_Don’t get involved._

“So…you called me out here for what, advice on family issues?” Said in a snarky tone, an eyebrow raised.

“Oh! No, no. Haytham said before you arrived that we would be partners, for the whole parade shebang. Figured we could both escape from that mess and talk about what we’re doing at the same time.”

Well shit. There goes your don’t get involved strategy.

“Huh. Okay.” Malik crossed his arms and leant again the door, looking at his feet as he tried to figure out a plan of attack. “Well, I’m pretty much the main part of the whole float, given I’m the florist. We’ll have to check what the theme is with the committee, then get the design sketches from Leo. After that its mostly ordering, putting together, and making sure nothing bad happens.”

"Ah. You need my muscle to keep the street safe. I get you.” Altair joked but nodded, pursing his lips as he thought, thinking on the plan. “Right. Sounds good. Only one more thing to do then.”

What-

He stuck out his hand next to Maliks with a grin, not a joking one or a sneering grin, but one of genuine agreement and kindness. A grin he wasn’t used to seeing. A grin he wasn’t beginning to want.

“Partners?”

hesitation.

Its a slippery slope.

Malik shook his hand.

“Partners.”


End file.
